


she's as cold as ice

by planetpeaches



Category: Casper (1995)
Genre: Age Difference, Cunnilingus, Daddy Issues, F/M, Femdom, Inappropriate Behavior, Pre-Canon, Sex at a Funeral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29678646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planetpeaches/pseuds/planetpeaches
Summary: Paul was just the attorney, what did he care as long as he got his fee? But Carrigan had a way of wrapping her sharp little claws around things she wanted in life; be it diamonds or perfume or pathetic little men willing to do her bidding.
Relationships: Carrigan Crittenden/Paul "Dibs" Plutzker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	she's as cold as ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imbrem_aureum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imbrem_aureum/gifts).



> This was inspired by imbrem_aureum's wonderful fic [Yes, Carrigan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29533596) (ok, and also a little bit by the fact that Eric Idle would just look really good with his head between Cathy Moriarty's legs??? hey I don't make the rules) anyway I may have taken your comment regarding Dibs/Carrigan fic "I would happily consume every word of it" a little too literally, but I couldn't resist adding to their tag and your fic was just far too inspiring. Basically if anyone hasn't yet read it; you really should because it's fantastic.

Paul could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen Carrigan Crittenden cry. Today however; was not one of them. She sat at the edge on the row of chairs that lined the empty funeral parlour, the catafalque awaiting the old man’s casket. Empty apart from Paul, who entered the room quietly, watching the smoke swirl above her blonde hair in a silvery cloud. 

He walked down the aisle towards her, and when he reached out to touch her shoulder she spoke before he could lay a hand on her. 

“Don’t even think about giving me any of that bullshit, Dibs. I’ll get enough of it from that pathetic excuse I have to call a family.”

Paul’s hand recoiled as he brought it back to fall at his side limply. “Yes, of course.” 

Her stony expression as she turned her head to look up at him was no surprise to Paul. Over the last several months she’d been desperately trying to coax out of him the contents of her father’s will to no avail. Paul, or _Dibs_ as she had affectionately referred to him since she was a child, was in the dark about the late man’s will himself, and so it was as much of a mystery to him as it was to his own daughter. He supposed that gave them some sort of bond, a mutual frustration they could feed on together. 

Paul stretched his arm out in front of him to look at his watch. “Father Garridos will be here soon. Then it will all be over before you know it.” 

Carrigan rolled her eyes, as if the whole day couldn’t end soon enough. He’d seen that look many times too. Boredom didn’t bode well with her, and she didn’t like waiting. For anything.

Paul came forward and knelt down beside where she sat. “Is there anything I can do for you Carrigan? To make you feel better?” 

When the cigarette was pulled from her lips, she blew smoke into his face, forcing him to blink rapidly, eyes watering before she came into focus again, giving him a sly smile. Her gloved hand came out to run across his cheek, leather clad fingers brushed against the back of his neck and under his curls. 

He gulped as he glared up at her. Carrigan was more than a client. He’d been with the Crittenden family for near on twenty years, watched her grow from a bratty child into an even brattier teenager, and then into the vicious and cold young woman she was today. She embodied everything her father had tried to stamp out of the world… cruelty, greed, power. Paul was just the attorney, what did he care as long as he got his fee? But Carrigan had a way of wrapping her sharp little claws around things she wanted in life; be it diamonds or perfume or pathetic little men willing to do her bidding. 

“Oh, Dibs,” she sighed. “You’ve always been there for me haven’t you?” 

He nodded weakly, and a vague memory of her stomping her feet whilst her lip wobbled because daddy had refused her pocket money that month, entered his thoughts. She’d sobbed pathetically, whinging and wiping tears into her frilly dress sleeves until Dibs snuck her a fifty dollar note and pressed a finger against his lips. 

“Our little secret,” he’d said, as her tears seemed to instantly disappear, and she giggled up at him, snatching the note from his hands and running off out of the study. 

In the funeral parlour though, her lips were steady, perfectly painted red, plump and luscious and not belonging to a ten year old girl. He leant up towards her, just to give her that moment of comfort he was always willing to give her. 

But as he tilted his head, lips inches from hers and ready to taste her mouth, her hand tightened in his hair, leather stretching over her skin with a low sound that had him hissing air through his teeth. Her head fell back, as she stared up at the ceiling, forcing his lips to brush against her chin instead. 

“Carrigan…” he whispered against her skin, feeling her hand tighten painfully against his scalp. Her other hand, cigarette still pinched between her fingers, came up to meet the one on his head and she pushed him down her body as she let herself fall back against the row of chairs. 

It didn’t take a genius to work out what she was asking, but he hesitated regardless. His nose prodded her stomach, as he awaited further instructions. This came in the form of her forcing his head down further until it hovered between her legs, the tight black hem of her dress stretched up her thighs from where she’d spread her knees slightly to accommodate the width of his shoulders. 

Paul bit his lip, trying hard to steady his hands as he raised them to her thighs, running over the sheer fabric of her stockings. This sure was one way to stick it to the man, and Mr Crittenden had been less than an ideal employer. Despite where his loyalties may have ultimately lay, with various charities and good causes, the man himself was no saint. He’d certainly never been contender for boss of the year, and he doubted he’d claim any medals for ' _attentive father_ ' either. But Paul had made him a promise on his deathbed...that he’d take care of his one and only daughter - and this seemed a fairly decent commitment. 

He let a small breath run over the inside of her thigh as he pushed her dress up a little higher, watching her silken white panties come into view underneath. His fingers wrapped around her legs, pressing into the exposed flesh just above the netted rim of her stockings, and he kissed a patch of smooth white skin that looked almost porcelain against the black. He felt one of her legs lift as it rested against his shoulder, the tip of her stiletto digging into his back and pulling him forward. His nose nudged her gently, forcing a small hum from her and he found his skin prickling with heat at the sound. He longed to hear it again, hear her whimper and moan above him; but not with the same sounds she made when she couldn’t have what she wanted, whining a _Dibs, do something!_ because no one else would. 

No he wanted these moans to be ones of pleasure, sighing and wailing because he was giving her exactly what she wanted. 

Her heel dug into his back again, and his cock grew beneath his trousers, staring at her dampening panties, centimetres from his mouth. His hand came round to thumb them aside, fabric clinging to her lips with moisture and he found himself dizzy with desire. Her plush cunt pulsed for him, white and pink and perfect, glistening under the low lights like a treasure he was about to explore. A small triangle of blonde hair framed the top of her slit and he pressed forward to kiss it. What he wouldn’t give to dip into that delicious heat right now, fuck her until he could feel her tighten around him as she whined his name, _her_ name for him, into the empty funeral parlour. 

He turned his head into her thigh again, kissing and tasting more of that deliciously soft skin, and this time her moan wasn’t laced with desire. 

“Dibs! Stop messing around down there, and get on with it.”

That thick rich voice had him obeying immediately, it always did, and he crawled forward on his knees, tongue coming out to lick all the way up the warm and wet cunt which was so inviting, he barely had time to comprehend what he was doing before his whole mouth covered it. 

Her thighs crushed him either side of his head as her hands twisted in his hair, the leather painfully pulling at the strands. He didn’t have time to come up for air, so he breathed in through his nose, tongue pushing inside her as best he could, feeling her whole body shudder, giving her away despite the lack of sound that spilled from her lips.

He flicked his tongue over her clit, over and over until - there it was - the smallest moan as she rolled her hips against him. His hands gently hovered at her waist, not daring to hold her down, letting her fuck up into his mouth. He didn’t think he’d ever worked his mouth so hard, even in the courtroom. 

Carrigan dripped wet, dribbling over his chin and he lapped at it, like the loyal dog he was. She never had been allowed a pet, so maybe that’s all he was for her. Faithful old Dibs, always there to pick up the pieces. If this was her new way of treating him, he could live with it. 

His erection was painful now, begging for relief, but somehow all that mattered was Carrigan. All that ever really mattered was Carrigan. 

Paul brought his arm around her hips, thumb pressing against her clit, pulling the skin taut as he pushed his tongue inside her again, feeling her whole body convulse against him, pussy tight and quivering. He moaned into her, unable to hold back, heat rising at the pit of his stomach, threatening to boil over. He didn’t have a change of suit in his car, so he couldn’t afford a large dark stain at his clients funeral right now, despite how much he wanted to spend himself as Carrigan’s orgasm tightened around his tongue. 

As he dragged his head away, the sight of her pulsing almost sent him over the edge, and he licked his lips, a strained groan leaving his throat. 

When she sat up, she brought her half smoked cigarette back up to her lips and removed her leg from his shoulder, readjusting herself in her seat. Paul tried not to think about her leaking between her legs throughout the service, and instead took to tidying himself up before the Priest arrived. 

“Thank you Dibs,” she said, looking up at him. “You always know what to do.” 

“Of course, sweetheart.” 

She tutted quietly at the term of endearment, and looked back ahead of her to that very same position he found her in. She looked as though nothing had phased her at all. 

“Oh, and Dibs,” before he could walk away, she ran her hand up his thigh until it came to rest against the bulge under his pants. “I hope you’re going to take care of that before the rabble arrives?” 

He cleared his throat, staring down at the black gloved hand, that rested against everything a man held dear. “Yes,” he let out weakly. “I will, Carrigan.” 

“There’s a good boy,” and with that she let him go. 

Bringing himself off in the gents would be a doddle, compared to having to sit through a service and a wake, with the taste of Carrigan Crittenden still on his tongue.


End file.
